luciazephyr: Misha standing against the wall, shadowed and withdrawn ([SPN] what are you to me)
ETA: Seperis cures my self-pity.

We're fanfic writers, fanartists, vidders, we build websites, organize cons, and acquire skills in the pursuit of something that cannot ever make money, ever. It's barred to us by the law and we built a culture around it. We built a culture that is at its foundation based on acts of creation that have no purpose other than to give and receive pleasure and has no business application whatsoever. Christ, we can't even claim a higher religious, philosophical, or social purpose in the foundation of our creation, though I believe we are engaged in all three and more anyway, because that's like, pretentious and you know, making ourselves feel better about being total losers.



You know. It probably comes as no surprise that I'm proud of other things the road to hell is paved with. In just about a month and a half, I've written a ridiculous amount of fic and I don't look back on it and go "well, in hindsight I should have done this instead." No, I'm proud of it. I like what it's doing, where it's going, how it challenges me as a writer, and the absolutely insane amount of enthusiasm I've gotten in response to it.

And yet, when I explain what I'm doing to my relatives, the first thing they say is, "So when are you going to write your own story?"

Why does that piss me off so much? I just... I realize I am borrowing Butcher's world, but I have put so much goddamn work into plotting and making this all work, why isn't it my story? Why is the goal always writing a publishable story? I mean, I don't think I have the chops for original fiction, honestly, and all the good ideas are taken. Why can't this be fulfilling on its own?

Why is writing +76,000 words somehow unremarkable to my own family?

I don't know why this is bothering to the point it is (i.e. looking at the next chapter dully, not writing anything because I'm so annoyed about this). I'm throwing myself heart and soul into this story, I'm sinking hours of work into it, and as soon as I am asked what I'm doing, I reply, and am then asked why I'm not doing something else.

Sorry, I'm ranting and rambling, which is a fucking fabulous combination, lemme tell you. It's just that the disconnect between how blissfully happy my fic makes me with how meritless it is to my family kind of gets to me.


Okay, hopefully now I can get back to writing something worthlessworthwhile.

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